Second Chances Come In All Sizes
by Dragoness of the Stars
Summary: Jean Valjean thought he escaped the clutches of Inspector Javert after he fled with Cosette. It's been four months of bonding between him and his new daughter when there's a wailing noise at the door, and Valjean is shocked to find an incredibly loud, tired, and sniffling toddler half-asleep on his rug. A toddler that has an odd resemblance to a certain police officer...
1. Chapter 1

_**Chapter One: In Which Jean Valjean Discovers Something Small and Angry**_

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 _A/N: Hey! Dragoness of the Stars here. I don't usually stray far from my normal book and animated movies fics, but I love this musical and Javert too much. So I suppose this was the result; first Les Amis fic. The character's looks will be perceived as a mix of book/movie, I guess. Eventual MariusXCosette, though it will not be the main focus. Lots of Javert, I suppose I should warn. I don't own Les Miserables._

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Jean Valjean had been happily enjoying a civil tea party with Cosette and her doll when there suddenly came an ear-piercing howl at the door. Cosette's head shot up in alarm, and she clutched Catherine tightly in her frail arms.

You see, this unlikely pair of papa and fille had been living quite peacefully in the Gorbeau House, far from Montreuil-sur-Mer, far from the Thenardiers, and even farther from the despicable Inspector Javert. The pair had been clumsily polite around each other at first. Cosette was still shy around her adoptive father, but through small gentle smiles, inclining her petite body towards his side, little grasps of her fingers at his coat or rough palms, she'd proven to warm up to the former Monsieur le Maire. Any little sign of affection, and Valjean could feel his heart soar.

Valjean smiled at her briefly. "No worries, Cosette. It's probably a hungry cat, or something of the like." Of course, he wondered, no cat he'd crossed paths with had ever sounded so human.

Cosette's fearful face softened. "Should we feed it, Papa?"

Valjean shook his head at her obedient kindness. "Of course, my dear. Why don't you go get some bread from the kitchen?"

While Cosette hurried to the pantry, Jean strode towards the door hesitated only slightly before opening. Instinct had taught him to never trust, but his heart taught him to not listen to brutal instinct. He cracked the door open and stared down, expecting a bedraggled feline, and instead his jaw dropped in surprise.

Cosette trotted up behind his back and her blue eyes widened. She dropped the handful of bread on the ground, gawking in a pause of silent shock, and looked up to her father for guidance. "Papa, it's a child." Her voice came out in a squeak.

Valjean snapped out of his stupor and bent down to take the kid in his arms. The child's hair was dirty and stuck up in fifteen different directions, he was covered in a patchy layer of mud and snow, and his eyes were screwed shut. Two streaks of clean skin on his chubby cheeks showed where the tears had fallen, and his wailing had not quieted even when Valjean had picked him up.

"Shh," Valjean shut the door with his foot and smoothed down the boy's thick hair. He couldn't of been more than two or three years old, yet too big to be less than a year old. He wore a tattered brown shirt and trousers wet with snow. His small fists batted at his rescuer's chin, and when he opened his eyes, they were a pale silver. He mumbled out a word that sounded a strange lot like "Convict,", then whimpered his cries out quietly.

Cosette stood up on her tiptoes to get a better look at the pitiful creature and let out a tiny, breathless gasp of delight. "Oh, Papa, he's cute! Look at him, he seems so angry. I wonder why?" Her voice was soft when she reached up to pat the child's knees, and the boy squirmed uneasily.

"Go 'way."

Valjean almost smiled at his childish irritation. "What's your name?"

The boy suddenly yawned and rubbed his eyes. He mumbled something like "S'eep." and cuddled against Valjean's chest.

The pair sidled over to the kitchen Valjean sat down on a chair and Cosette crawled onto his lap to admire their new-found friend. She poked his squishy, flat nose and giggled. "Do you think his mother is looking for him, Papa?"

Her father had been staring at the child in analytical skepticality and murmured, "Yes, Cosette. I suppose she would be. But why would someone leave a child at our door?"

"He could have come here all by himself." Cosette pointed out. She grabbed a nearby damp cloth and gently began rubbing off the dirt on boy's forehead. He whined quietly in his sleep but didn't wake up.

"Look at his clothing, Cosette. He sports barely anything, the poor boy. His parents must not have even enough to clothe their children. We must seek them out immediately." Jean Valjean answered. His voice seemed slightly absent. He had noticed the boy's dark skin and scruffy hair was stark against his pale hands; his eyes were also odd...foreign, even. Exotic.

As if reading his thoughts, the child opened one of his grey eyes droopily. "Mmf. S'op." he pushed away Cosette's gentle hands and curled into a tight ball. "Hafta...catch two..fo'..six…"

Valjean turned his daughter. "We will begin our search tomorrow. It is too cold out tonight to bring a child around town."

Cosette nodded and stroked the boy's cheek happily. "What do you think his name is?"

Valjean shook his head in defeat. "There is no way to tell, darling."

"Ja..vert'." the boy mumbled in his drowsily. "Hafta catch...two fo' six...o one."

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 _Short, yes. But the chapters will be longer; this is kind of a test drive, to see how well the story will traverse. Anyway, review/favorite/follow if you want to see more adorable toddler Javert moments and Valjean turmoil and mother-duck Cosette! Yaaay._

-DOTS


	2. Chapter 2

_All right, here is the next chapter. Hope you enjoy it, and make sure to leave a review if you want it to continue, or have any kind of feedback, whether negative or positive. I do not own anything having to do with Les Miserables. :)_

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 _ **In Which Valjean is Named Bread**_

The next day, Valjean woke up with the number 24601 still mumbled in his head, from the sleepy mouth of a toddler.

Cosette was on the other side of the room, crawled up into a tight ball with her bare sheet dragging onto the floor and her hair tangled in a messy blonde halo around her face. Valjean smiled warmly, his eyes still milky from sleep and the warmth of night keeping him from waking fully.

Yet he sighed with the rattling tiredness of the old man he was and swung his feet onto the cold floor. He needed to check on the temporary addition to their home, in the care of their maid in the room next to theirs.

Sister Lillie was sitting in the light of the candle on a rocking chair, her eyes trained dutifully on the toddler squirming in his bed.

"Good morning, Sister," Valjean nodded cheerlessly. "Has our guest fared well?"

"He's muttered all kinds of fantasies this night, Monsieur," the nun responded, rising from her seat. "Scared me once or twice. He seems to sleep with those silver eyes open sometimes! But he was a very good boy."

"Thank you very much," Valjean nodded, stepping inside the room. "You may take your leave. Go and rest."

After Sister Lillie left, Jean stood standing over the child in the bed. Even in his sleep he was restless; his small fists clenched tight, his feathery eyebrows furrowed. Valjean grimaced in worry. He didn't know how this child had picked up his convict number, nor the name of the police inspector. His dear Cosette had no idea why he'd had gone stone-cold at the mention of '24601', so he'd tried to hide it behind a swift rush to a bedtime story, and soon she had forgotten and was asleep.

Meanwhile, Valjean pondered.

Of course he wasn't going to cast the boy out in the cold! There was no chance Valjean would consider it. However, he was curious. Just how had this boy come to his door and said the two phrases he feared most unintentionally?

Jean bent down and pulled the child into his arms again. He was a scrawny little thing, and his hair had tufted out like bird's feathers. He was also in desperate need of a change of clothes.

The boy awoke drowsily and seemed to startled to stare into the white-haired, elderly man. "Who?" he squeaked. "Who?"

"Hello," Valjean spoke timidly. He stared away absently for a minute, and then smiled. "We're going to go find your mama and papa today."

"Who?" The boy crawled up into a sitting position and tugged at Valjean's blouse. His vocabulary shifted suddenly. "Jean. Jean!"

"Yes, that is true." Valjean tried escape the child's hands clutching at his hair. "My name is Jean."

The boy reached up and tugged at the ex-convict's ears painfully and springing up and down in his arms, piping "Jean! Jean! Bread! Jean!"

"All right," Valjean huffed and ducked his head. "Let's get you dressed, vous petit nuisance,"

"Bread! You bread!"

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Valjean placed the child on his lap, amusing him by bouncing him on his knee. _Note to self; don't play with toddlers while trying to eat breakfas_ t. Cosette had awoken and she was dragging her doll behind her, rubbing one eye and yawning.

"Papa, are we goin'to...look for the boy's 'arents t..oday?" Her words were slurred. She patted back her hair with hair frail hands and plopped down next to Valjean's feet, leaning against his calves. "Mmmf. I'm 'ired."

"Yes, Cosette." Valjean chuckled. "We are going to look for this child's home. But first," he handed the excited little boy a piece of cheese then ruffled his adopted daughter's hair. "Let's everyone get ready for the day."

Cosette drew her doll close. "Even Catherine?'

"Yes, my dear. Even Catherine."

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Cosette dutifully dressed Catherine in a tight white dress while Valjean plaited her hair with a comb between his teeth. The toddler was currently climbing on his back and once again trying to tear his ears off; Cosette giggled at the big grey eyes peeping above her father's hair.

"Papa, he likes you!"

"Well, you're not wrong." mumbled Jean. He patted her back with one palm. "Are you ready, sweetheart?"

"Let's go!" Cosette scampered towards the door excitedly, and Valjean swiped up his hat from the side of the coffee table. The little boy was still clinging to his shoulders when he stood up. As Valjean hefted him up into a sitting position, he placed his hat on the toddler's head.

"Oh!' Cosette laughed loudly and covered her hands over her mouth. "He can't see!"

"Hat!" The boy hiccuped, trying to pry the object of his head through peals of laughter "Haaat!"

Valjean held onto the boy's knees with one hand and took Cosette's arm in the other, and they walked out into the morning.

It was a brisk day; the citizens walked around, ragged or rich, dirty or groomed. Some covered their poverty with prideful strides, others hid in the corners, others swatted the beggars away. The sound of horse hooves trotted past, followed by the rickety jingling of carts. Bakers set up their bread and confections behind the counter, a rare delicacy only the spoiled could buy. The smell of baking yeast and sugar filled the air, mixing with the warning scent of rain in the air and stench of the beggars.

Valjean, Cosette, and the boy walked through the crowd unnoticed. Ready to spare anything he had, Valjean gave alms to any of the passing poor who noticed him. Often, he would hand cosette a few sous and she would eagerly distribute them among the hunched over people in the corners of the streets.

"Excuse me, good mademoiselle," Valjean would ask, "Do you know this child?" The first person studied the kid grinning and playing with Valjean's hair and shook her head.

"No,"

Jean asked the next. He frowned a negative absently and hurried on. "Please, ask if anyone is missing a young boy, monsieur!"

Cosette would skip down the cobbled streets, asking anyone freely so long as her papa kept an eye on her. None of them even recognized the kid.

"Please, monsieur, please," she asked softly, "Did you not see this boy last night, alone? Or with his parents?" And none had an answer other than 'no'.

Finally, a grey-haired, bent woman reached over and tapped Valjean on his shoulder with her crooked fingers. Valjean turned and smiled, "How can I help you?"

"The boy," the lady rasped, "I saw him last night,"

"Oh!" Valjean picked the boy off his shoulders and scooped him into his arms. "What can you tell me?"

The lady stretched out one pasty, knobbled hand and raised an eyebrow.

Valjean nodded in understanding and dug into his pocket; when he'd handed her two francs, she spoke.

She led him to a darker corner, and Cosette trailed behind them.

"That boy," she hissed at the toddler in Valjean's arms, "Was not a boy when I saw him."

"What does she mean, Papa?"

"Hush, my dear," Curious as well, Jean narrowed his eyes. "Well?"

"He was a grown man, stomping about the courtyard furiously with a baton on his hands. Had a fancy hat and suit. Some policeman."

Valjean's face went white. Terrified at her next words, he listened.

The woman chuckled, "I asked him who he was searching for, and he replied 'a filthy convict, escaped from Montreuil-sur-Mer. Have you seen him?'. Of course I hadn't. But he did not believe me and was angered. He kept questioning, me and everyone else on the streets. Almost hit me with that black stick of his. Still without answers, he turned a corner, and when he returned...he was no man. The policeman was a child, a loud, screeching babe. I recognize him now, as the child you hold in his arms."

Valjean couldn't speak. His throat had dried.

"But that's impossible, mad'am!" Cosette whispered.

"You know nothing of the world, child," hissed the sour lady, "For I saw it with my own eyes, God's fury bestowed upon a man. And now look at him. A child!"

"What...what was his name? Did you catch it?" Jean asked, his voice frail.

"He was an Inspector, by the name of Javert."

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 _So there you have it. A little longer than the first chapter. How will Valjean react to this? Favorite/follow/review :)_

 _-DOTS_


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